


COBALT FISSURE

by Roughnight



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Jaegers, Kaiju, M/M, Mind connection, Neural Bridging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:19:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roughnight/pseuds/Roughnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>.<br/>It comes without saying that with Sherlock Holme’s massive mind, forming the neural bridge with the Jaeger was as natural as breathing. A colossal mind could handle a colossal bot.</p><p>The Cobalt Fissure was his. It was him. No one else was allowed to trespass. </p><p>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. GO BIG OR GO EXTINCT

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nofavrell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nofavrell/gifts).



 

 

~*~*~

 

 

When the Colossal monsters the world now called as _Kaijus_ started sprouting from the bottom of the Pacific and began wreaking havoc, Sherlock Holmes merely found the phenomenon annoying. At first, the event started to cause traffic which interfered with his cases and impeded the progress of his investigations. Then the number of cases dwindled dramatically. People started to panic and seeing to it that there was a greater threat posed against humanity, the criminal masses thought it best to prioritize themselves and lumbered towards the refugee camps in the mountains, somewhere far from the bodies of liquids. As it happened, even the brutes have their own self preservations. Eventually, the Scotland Yard, too, lost their passions in cuffing criminals and throwing them into jail. Why detain a human when there were _Kaijus_ that could probably annihilate everyone at any given moment? The appearance of the _Kaijus_ threw everything off the loop—turned all the predictable aspects of everyday life into a mess. This was the chaos that wasn’t welcomed at all, not to Sherlock Holmes. It was a drag. Suddenly, the Work which has served as Sherlock’s betrothed—Sherlock’s very life—was gone, was violently taken away from him. It was even more annoying that he found himself helpless against it.

 

Contrary to what other people expected, Sherlock Holmes wasn’t exactly impressed about the _Kaijus_. They were bothersome. They were just giant beasts after all, with straight end goals. They were just animals propelled by instincts. Colossal beasts they may be, they were still no different from trained dogs—perhaps a _tinsy_ bit more ferocious and fatal, but the primal drives were similar. While Sherlock would’ve dearly loved to do an experiment on them or to their remains and entrails, this presented opportunity still didn’t come close to what he has lost which was The Work. Experiments on _Kaijus_ would not appease him. It was a pain in the ass. Truth be told, the existence of _Kaijus_ wasn’t a surprise. The universe was so vast after all that there was bound to be alien entities existing… what did surprise Sherlock was the origin where the first contact begun. Like the general population, he has somehow vested that they would appear from space.  That the portal was at the very bottom of the Pacific was, well, admittedly ingenious. It indubitably caught everyone off guard.

 

But then a more profound, greater, and note worthy phenomenon miraculously happened. The people stopped being boring and they started inventing colossal robots they later called _Jaegers_ to match the colossal _Kaijus_ and, suddenly, Sherlock Holmes found himself terrifically thrilled and gleeful. It was brilliant. The neural bridging between humans and the Jaegers, the process that made it possible for humans to control the giant robots by connecting their nervous system and its synapses to circuits so that the electrical impulses would meet and correlate—it was _very, very clever_ indeed. It was fantastic.

 

When Mycroft gave him an offer to serve humanity’s cause—because Mycroft, being the indulging older brother that he is, only had one person he believed could do all the jobs and accomplish them with impressive results—, Sherlock couldn’t refuse.

 

Sherlock had entirely different reasons but that was no longer relevant.

  
~*~*~

  
Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a fighter. As it turned out, not a single soul in the Resistance thought he could hold himself in a fight. Except Mycroft, of course, but well, Mycroft wasn’t really a person was he? With his lithe figure and lanky features, Sherlock could be easily overpowered by bigger transports—men and women with overly exaggerated bulks, those with muscles pumped with concoctions of vitamins and steroids. His stamina was even inferior to most and he could take physical damage just as easily. What the other candidates didn’t have, however, was the superior mind he alone possessed. And this was singly the most important factor when one rides a _Jaeger_. When Sherlock was inside the _Jaeger_ , it was all together a different matter. He was the most dangerous combatant there is. He soon came to find that his body felt lighter when he was inside the machine, that controlling the Jaeger did not cause him to break a sweat. He blended together with his _Jaeger_ without resistance, the connection flowing between him and the colossal robot so freely. Sherlock was fucking brilliant if he could say so himself. Inside his _Jaeger_ , he was unbeatable. Every other _Jaegers_ matched against him were subdued during the practice sparring. The other pilots were boring and their moves were totally predictable after all. Two minds they might be in piloting the _Jaeger_ ; they were melded so tightly together that they still are considered a single unit. Sherlock Holmes triumphed against them piloting his _Jaeger_ alone.

 

No one else was capable of melding minds with Sherlock Holmes. They attempted to hook him up with several partners during the early phases of Sherlock’s career as a _Jaeger_ pilot but nothing good yielded. Mycroft could probably hold his own when thrown inside the younger Holme’s Mind Palace but Mycroft’s a lazy ass who wouldn’t want to break a leg. Not that Sherlock himself would allow the connection. He’d rather die at the mouth of a _Kaiju_ than have his brother inside his head.

 

It comes without saying that with Sherlock Holme’s massive mind, forming the neural bridge with the _Jaeger_ was as natural as breathing. _A colossal mind could handle a colossal bot_.

 

The Cobalt Fissure was his. It was him. No one else was allowed to trespass. No one else could par with the deep connection he has formed with it.

 

~*~*~

 

Sherlock Holmes alone held the record of beating the _Kaijus_ with the least amount of damage sustained by a _Jaeger_. _His Jaeger_. Fissure was a part of him—it was unforgivable to treat it irresponsibly. The connection between him and the Jaeger was gripping in its intensity. It was almost painful to break the neural bridge every time a mission would be done. Sherlock and his mind were built for the _Jaeger_ and Cobalt Fissure was built for him. But while the _Kaijus_ were easily subdued, it was a different matter when they started appearing by two’s. Damn beasts started the strategy of matching up with the Jaegers—Fissure included—by having a greater number. Sherlock triumphed against the colossal beasts he was matched against but that meant he was sustaining the neural connection with the _Jaeger_ with a longer time and was utilizing a larger portion of his brain for every mission he was deployed in.

 

He started to have nosebleeds.

 

The first time it happened, he was merely indifferent, but cautious—extremely so, and with good reason. He swiped the blood with the back of his hand and schooled his face to belie the splitting ache he had in his head. There was only was person in this world Sherlock attempts to be cautious of. Mycroft maybe fat, lazy and meddlesome but he was the British Government after all. Sherlock emerged from Fissure only to find his older brother already waiting for him.

 

“ _Brother_ ,” Mycroft acknowledged, his sharp eyes cold and imploring and knowing. Sherlock did not even bother to deduce how Mycroft found out about the signs and symptoms that begun manifesting. There was bound to be a bug or two that escaped Sherlock’s notice. That or the monitors from the Resistance’s Control Room revealed his physical status.

 

“Piss off, Mycroft.” Sherlock growled exasperatedly. This was troublesome.

 

“How’s your head?” The older Holmes continued nonchalantly, ignoring Sherlock’s scowl. “We all knew it was bound to happen. The _Jaegers_ are supposed to be piloted by at least a number greater than one. The neural load was bound to exhaust you. You’ve done an exceptional job but the time has changed. The _Kaijus_ are adapting.”

 

“I’m fine.” Sherlock snapped. “Don’t forget whose mind it is bridging with Fissure.”

 

“Sherlock…” Mycroft started haltingly, a bit discomfited and unsure as if he was bracing himself to trek upon uncharted waters. His eyes were now avoiding Sherlock’s. It was a look Sherlock so easily deduced.

 

“No!” Sherlock cried in horror, his face contorting disgustingly. “You are never going anywhere near my mind. How can you even have the gall to consider that?”

 

“We both know no one else could accommodate you.”

 

“Do not forget that it comes both ways, Mycroft! Their minds were too dull and bitter for my taste. I am equally repulsed. Just because you have a big head does not mean I would not reject it. No. Fissure and I would remain untouched by any of you or anyone else’s ministrations.”

 

“You don’t have a say in it. Not only is your safety on the line but the future of mankind as well. I’m afraid you’re not allowed to be selfish this time around, brother of mine.” Mycroft explained exhaustedly, the lines on his forehead creasing. It was a bad sign. It never boded well whenever the older Holmes would seem beaten. It was a testament to the gravity of the peril posed by _Kaijus_.

 

“We’re fine!” Sherlock whined through gritted teeth, pulling at the curls of his hair with his hand. “You’re being unreasonable.”

 

“No, I am not and if I have a say about any of this—in which I have—then I’d say you have to try, at least for us, or you’re never riding Fissure again.”

 

~*~*~

 

Sherlock permitted himself to entertain Mycroft’s candidates—at least ten of them—for Fissure’s sake and found that the number was more than enough. It was a torture. It was a horrible experience. He was nauseated and revolted by the first pilot they tried to match with him. Sherlock’s mind had touched a fiber of the other person’s mind—brushed lightly against the other mortal’s thoughts— and it instantly and most aggressively recoiled and built up barriers. By the third try, there already was a stronghold, a fortification, standing around the precipice of his thoughts. His mind eventually thought that enough was enough. Even when Sherlock physically allowed the neural touching with other people’s minds, his own mind seemed to have strongly decided against it. After the failure with the tenth pilot candidate, Sherlock merely walked out of the settlement, leaving the man heaving on all fours against the ground. They were pathetically weak. He decided to ignore Mycroft’s calls. He had suffered enough. He wouldn’t entertain anyone else anymore. It was bound to yield to the same result.

 

They stopped assigning deployments for Cobalt Fissure then after.

 

~*~*~

 

Sherlock Holmes started to have massive sulks. He predicted that Mycroft would eventually be forced to call him back after about three more _Kaiju_ sightings. He and Cobalt Fissure were the best _Jaeger_ unit after all. They both were a mother fucking bad ass.

 

The Resistance base was full of boring people all pretending to be greater than they actually are. Sherlock figured he owed it to himself to at least walk the streets of the City, however truly damaged and thoroughly destroyed they now are.  Since he now has the time to sulk, he could do it with grandiosity. This was how Sherlock found himself slipping from the Resistance settlement and wandering the uncharted streets on his own. No one would finally bother him. There was, however, a setback to this plan. Sherlock had the knack of unintentionally pissing off people with the barest of provocation. It was something the people of the Resistance have allowed to slip by and tolerated knowing what Sherlock Holmes played in humanity’s struggle against the giant beasts and knowing the power held by his brother, Mycroft Holmes, even in this world that’s at the brink of its extinction. It wasn’t easy choosing between the _Kaijus_ and the older Holmes.

 

But out there in the streets, in the place where people were exposed and were faced with the threat of the _Kaijus_ , where people had to gallop desperately just to reach the refugee camps that offered but a small glimpse of hope every time the _breach_ would open, where people were always a hair’s breadth away from being exterminated, a different kind of monstrosity existed. There was a level of ferocity and aggressiveness that did not exist within the confines of the Resistance settlements. The lay people outside has very little knowledge about the goings and comings of the humanity’s battle against the _Kaijus_. Most of the information leaked among the general population were exaggerated rumors. It meant that people were bound to throw their lives away should they deem it fit, meant that people had more space to skirmish about in order to hide from  criminal acts, meant that manners and decorum would be the least of their problems. The _Kaijus_ were crossing the breech by numbers after all and they all knew they could count the remaining _Jaegers_ with their fingers. They were all going to die.

 

Out there in the streets, Sherlock Holmes was alone. Out there, no one knew he was the best _Jaeger_ pilot to have existed or that he was humanity’s best bet for survival. Out there, Sherlock Holmes would see for the first time how the world and its people truly changed since the _Kaijus_ appeared. He has been cooped up inside Resistance bases all over the world and he has spent most of his time inside Cobalt Fissure that he never got the chance to witness what it was like to be out in the open, feeling like preys lining out for buffet.

 

The world has changed and so have the people… but among the catastrophe, Sherlock Holmes somehow still managed to find that one place where the most dangerous of men tended to pool during their free time.

 

It also meant, however, that it was the one place where he could have the most fortunate chance of meeting the one soul that have the insane penchant for danger, the stillness among the restlessness,  that one person that would later become the weapon held by Cobalt Fissure’s hands.

 

~*~*~

 

 

 

 

 


	2. We Are The Resistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> “Defense,” the man sniffed, “defense is boring.”
> 
> “Not when you defend to attack,” John grinned, feeling lightened by their conversation and almost smug. He never before had the chance to talk with anyone about the flaws of the most famous Jaeger to grace the earth. 
> 
> .

  

~*~*~

 

If there was one thing he could be thankful about the _Kaijus_ for, then it was the most unexpected yet most welcome cure of his psychosomatic limp. It was just one thing, though. After the colossal beasts had provided the swift and revolutionary excitement in John’s life and had devoid him of the accursed limp, he started doing whatever he can to help exterminate the huge buggers out of this world. He started helping out the people who needed his medical services, too, people who either can’t afford the professional fees of some doctors (whose rate had suddenly shot up from the mass destruction and impending end of the world— _thank you very much_ ) or people who can’t reveal themselves in the public at the risk of getting caught from their criminal activities. _This all came much, much later, though_ —when the innovation of mankind had started keeping the _Kaijus_ at bay. In the beginning, John had to settle himself with joining pseudo-militant activities dedicated with arming the people and destroying the beasts. It was how he begun associating himself with the underworld in the first place.

 

It was the month right after he was discharged from the army and was returned to London when the first _Kaiju_ appeared. At that time, all he thought about was how he couldn’t for the life of him live normally as a ** _civilian_**. This now sounds like such a petty concern in the face of all the wreckage and toll of death the Kaijus inflicted but at that time, attempting to sync in with the public and live as an ordinary citizen was a nightmare. He didn’t know what to do with himself when he was purposeless and useless. It was a stale, boring world he walked in. _A civilian life_. He tasted it. He tried to swallow it. It tasted abhorrent. Now that he was unmistakably and infinitely better, he could afford himself a brief visit on his dark days. Those were the times he’d spent every passing second sitting on his bedsit with his Sig Sauer on his mouth. Night after night, he believed that swallowing the bullet was his salvation. He wasn’t cut out for civilian life. He was rubbish at it. A surgeon with a bullet wound on his left chest and whose dominant hand shook; a man trained for combat but who was sporting a limp. **No**. There simply was no room for him in the world. He wondered why he ever thought he could kid himself.

 

He could remember the first time he heard about Kaijus as vividly as if it happened yesterday. Hell, everyone remembers the first time he or she first encountered word about the giant beasts. He was sitting on a bench alone in the park, having a cold cup of coffee and starting a conversation with an old acquaintance of him, Mike, when all of a sudden, the silence was broken by cries of disbelief and enthusiastic exclamations all around them. There was the unmistakable tang of mild panic in the air. He prided himself with his intuitive sensitivity with his surroundings. It was one of the few things the army has left him with. He immediately got on his feet and spun around, evaluating their surrounding, assessing for their safety and searching for the possible cause of the commotion. He looked for threats. _Nothing_. All the people around them were a ball of uncontained energy, huddling around or running or exclaiming over their phone but there was nothing anomalous in their immediate vicinity.

 

“What happened?” He asked Mike, his brows in a very deep, confused frown.

 

“I…” Mike stuttered, looking around frantically, his breathing fast. The irrational panic was getting into him. It was impossible not to feel anything when all the nearby sentient organics around you were all squeamish and seemingly feeling threatened. It was simply embedded in the genes. It was instinct. It was how fear worked. John couldn’t blame him. “I honestly don’t know.”

 

There was a group of four teenagers huddled over their handheld devices and watching something, two of them were covering their mouths with their hands and the other two were gritting their teeth. They had something in common, though. They were all looking pale, with outrage and disbelief etched on their features.  John looked around and saw that some of the people sprinting along the park either had their eyes on their own mobiles or had their ears on them. Feeling curious and genuinely worried, John was emboldened and strode towards the group. They barely spared him a glance and did not seem bothered by a stranger’s sudden proximity to them as he tipped on his toes and looked over someone’s shoulder to have a glimpse at the screen.

 

It was a live feed of something that resembled Godzilla from the movie. John squeezed his eyes shut and looked again, feeling greatly at lost as to what he should feel and what he should look for. What was he even looking at? Being portrayed in the news’s point of view, it looked too realistic to be a movie and too absurd and impossible to be true at the same time. It was being broadcasted by CNN, though; it said so in the screen. It also said that it was footage taking place somewhere in San Francisco. John watched as the colossal monster was bombarded by missiles both from the ground tanks and the fighter jets. The military’s attempt to subdue it looked futile.

 

“What is that?” He eventually asked, his voice cracked and it sounded weak even to his own ears. “Is it real?” It was impossible.

 

_“We don’t know—”_

 

_“Of course, it’s real!”_

_“Oh my God! It’s the end of the world!”_

His own mobile rang. He felt dizzy. The world suddenly did not make sense. His mobile rang and it was the only sound that pierced the deafening cloak that enveloped him from nowhere. It rang and rang and the other voices of the individuals in the park sounded like they came from under the water. He fished his handheld device out of his pocket and looked for Mike who was already answering a phone call himself.

 

“Hello?” John answered distractedly without bothering to check who the caller was. He could feel the threat of a massive headache coming. He looked at the sky and around the park and at the tall buildings that surrounded the City. **Nothing.** He cast a glance at every conceivable direction from where he stood and strained his ears. There was nothing to giveaway whatever it was that was happening in the video. There were no telltale signs that they were under attack by a colossal out of the world beast, nonetheless.

 

“John _? John, where are you_?” It was Harry. “Oh, God, John. Did you see the news?”

 

“I…yes, I don’t know.” John muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Was there any truth to that video?”

 

“Just.” Harry breathed. “Just come home. It’s all over the news.”

 

John didn’t really know what he felt at that time. It was impossible to put into words. Words would not have done the event justice. He wasn’t sure if he believed it at that very moment but he did go home. Harry called him. She sounded sober.

 

 _Maybe it was the end of the world_ , he had thought.

 

~*~*~

 

San Francisco was first on the _Kaijus_ ’ list, if they had a list at all. It will forever be in history. Its Golden Bridge was destroyed by the _Kaiju_ the military later on named as Trespasser.

 

Then it was Manila. Then it was Lucas. Then it was Sydney. The _Kaiju_ attacks didn’t stop after that. It went on and on and John had lost track.

 

But then came London and even when the people and the government had been dreadfully anticipating it, the colossal monster assigned to the place had a knack with blowing one’s preparations and hope to smithereens and exceeding one’s expectations.  

 

John was cured of his psychosomatic limp then after.

 

 

He was a soldier. He was a _ground_ soldier. He was a very good one if he could say so himself. But even when he was finally cured of the limp and even if he was a crack shot, he was no pilot nor did he know how to operate underwater navy shuttles. At the early phases of men’s clash with the alien colossal beasts they now coined as _Kaijus_ , John realized how little he could be of help in terms of direct combat. Not that he was reinstated to the army whatsoever. He had to do something, though. There were threats at large and damn if he would let himself rot in some evacuation center or something.

 

At first he joined the Wall Projects, an attempt to barricade mankind from the _Kaijus_ assaults. Then he joined in some small smuggling syndicates in robbing the largest weapons and ammo outlets. It was for a good cause, he ventured. Why sell guns to people when they were threatened by monsters in the first place? Not that guns would help them fight against the _Kaijus_ but it gave some sort of control, some illusion of control, in this chaotic world. The existence of the colossal beasts not only caused destruction and annihilation but it changed people too. The crimes were more prone to go bloody and ugly. A single brawl could turn out into an all our killing spree. A simple stealing could go to shooting at each other in an attempt to acquire food back. It was the darkest of days. His time in Afghanistan paled in comparison.

 

He supposed that reprieve came with the invention of the _Jaegers_. They proved to be a match to the humongous monsters. Battle after battles: with each win of the mankind’s toys against the _Kaijus_ , Hope is returned to the people and with it came order. The government took back the control they have momentarily relinquished during the initial fright and desperate attempt to combat the beasts. Stalls were opened up again and more evacuation and refugee centers were built in each country. Protocols, rules, hotlines and everything related to _Kaiju_ attacks that could prepare the people were all established. There was a certain kind of peace that existed, some semblance to the sort of community that existed before the alien invasion but it was nothing to safe or equal, especially in this side of the settlement. That kind of peace was an illusion. This settlement was the place where John Watson thrived.

 

~*~*~

 

The thing was, John was starting to get bored. He loved gambling and he loved the Pub for its noise, if not for its general sanitary condition, but he has already been spending a number of months in the same area and unless a _Kaiju_ actually attacked the place, he rather thought that he’ll get his psychosomatic limp back. Even among the scoundrels, the drunkards and the common criminals, a routine existed. As long as there were _Kaijus_ , they were trapped in a loop, in a system, in the cycle of the beasts’ attacks. Mankind’s lives stop, reach a plateau and speed up all according to a _Kaiju’_ s appearance and its defeat. People’s breathing is practically controlled by the opening and closing of the Pacific’s breach. Everything in the place was starting to seem monotonous now. As he chugged the last drop of beer from his bottle, he wondered if this would be his last night at this place.

 

The door was opened brusquely—or rather, it was flung open.

 

 It would have been impossible not to cast a glance or two at the source of the noise. The man who entered looked terribly out of place. John wondered if he was stupid or if he came looking for trouble. He looked well off. He was a fucking walking time capsule. He was the poster image of what a gentleman looked like before the attacks of the _Kaijus_ took place _,_ before civilization was threatened. The man was sporting his hair in dark luscious curls that looked every bit maintained. It contrasted to his porcelain skin. His eyes looked pale from where John was seated but it could’ve been merely the light doing tricks. The most out-of-the-place aspect of this person, perhaps, was his clothes. He wore a Belstaff coat John would bet was more than his army pension and beneath it was crisp white buttoned down shirt and tailored trousers. He was also extremely good looking; the combination of the peculiar angles of his face and his razor sharp cheekbones and lips gave a handsome outcome when it probably should have looked weird.

 

Then John thought the man must be just stupid. He was a walking calling card for trouble, a dangling meat teasing the kind of people who easily threw caution to the wind in a fairly regular basis.

 

The man crossed the line towards the bar in long purposeful strides wearing an expression of disdain. It was as if the man did not like the place and he disapproved of the people in it and could not be bothered to mask his expression of the general population around the room. He looked the kind of man who thought everyone around were beneath him. As the tall man sniffed at the air and expressively wrinkled his nose in disgust, John couldn’t help the burst of laughter out of his mouth. _God, the guy was ridiculous_. The man stopped short and flicked his eyes at John, silver eyes _(they really were silver)_ narrowing at him. John thought there was recognition in the stranger’s eyes but he may have just mistaken it. Embarrassed, John felt his cheeks flush. He faked a cough as he slid his own eyes away from the other man. It was then that he noticed the expressions of the other patrons. They were all openly glaring with contempt at the newcomer. Apparently, John wasn’t the man’s only audience. Everyone else has seen the stranger’s display. It did not help that instead of bowing, looking at the floor and quietly retreating, the man himself fiercely leveled an eye back at them—at all of them patron thugs, most of whom made the number of this part of the City’s criminal population.

 

With a huff, the man strode towards the bar.

 

The thing was, with the _Kaiju_ attacks, majority of the business firms all closed. Whatever was left concentrated on the basic needs particularly food and shelter. Clothes were a form of luxury and people seldom bothered about them. They were all ready to dive at the sewers, roll in mud and live with the animals if they meant that they could get their asses saved from being _Kaiju_ food. In a few years time, the man’s Belstaff coat would be classic. It was perhaps the only kind John has ever seen in the long time and he rather doubted that he could find something similar to it even among the Chinese stalls left open in the settlement. Chinese were the only people that bothered to sell merchandise that did not contribute to survival of mankind anyway but they thrived even in this dangerous part of the settlement because most of them had bigger and more guns smuggled.

 

John was content to remain at his seat and watch the new addition to the Pub. He had initially planned to retire early for the night but he found himself inexplicably drawn to the man. He was keenly aware of his own speeding heartbeat and he could practically taste the adrenaline at the tip of his tongue. As soon as the man was out of the bar and seated somewhere, John decided that he would order for another bucket of beer.

 

 

The stranger was either sporting for trouble in the most subtle way or he merely did not notice or care his own abrasiveness that started to cut the silence of the night. The man looked like a graceful panther among the hyenas and the lions. It did not help that he was attractive. He was pleasing to the eyes and even when he generally acted like an idiot, his eyes told of something else. There were depth and cleverness in them. Even in an unfamiliar territory and among unfamiliar and probably threatening individuals, the man held his head and took the space he deigned to take.

 

The door opened again with a force and in came the barkeeper’s assistant, looking wild eyed and frantic.

 

“The news!” He shouted. “Open the box! The news!” He huffed. “ _Kaijus!_ ”

 

The barkeeper’s face reddened during the kid’s gibberish but he instantly perked up and paled upon the last word. The word _Kaiju_ was like a magic word that would never fail to demand one’s attention. Without any further ado, he whipped around and reached for the television’s control. Everyone in the Pub held their breath. Even among the brutes, even when majority of this Pub’s patrons were criminals, they were all humans and in the face of a colossal threat, there’s a level of pack mentality akin to animals that exist. Anticipation and fear lingered in the air. Four _Jaegers_ have already been destroyed so far. Even the common people were not ignorant of the latest news. The rumor mill in this side of the town is never inferior to those who are of control.

 

They watched the satellite feed on the television. The battle was being held in the middle of the ocean with Switzerland’s _Jaeger_ as its opponent.

 

~*~*~

 

The man stood still, drinking the feed from the television with his eyes. He was even barely breathing. Then the Jaeger took a fall and he was flinching and frowning and making dissatisfied whines and groans at the back of his throat. With an irritated huff, he muttered in a loud voice, “Switzerland will be destroyed. What an idiot.” His voice was rich and deep.

 

He was answered by growls and some nasty exclamations from the patrons who were all feeling sympathetic to the losing side, which incidentally happened to be man’s side. A couple of thugs has gotten on their feet and the resulting clang of their chairs on the floor emphasized the people’s general displease towards the man’s comment. Nerves. Nerves are normal whenever news of Kaijus were involved. When men are consumed by irrational fear— _perhaps rational in this case_ —they tend to lash out and spring about with flailing limbs.

 

John did not know what prompted him to do what he did next. All he knew was that this man could get killed then robbed _(because really, that damn coat was practically labeled ‘pilfer me’)_ if he did not do anything to pacify the crowd. In one swift movement, he was out of his chair and was already walking towards the man.

 

“Switzerland’s not an idiot,” he said casually with a shrug when he was already standing beside him. “Kaijus are getting smarter. They are coping. Cut the Jaeger a slack.”

 

“ _Slack_ ,” the man huffed with a mocking undertone, “If Jaeger pilots had the right to slack then they may as well have been just mere fishermen serving as fish baits to the _Kaijus_.”

 

 _Jesus_ , John thought.

 

On their right, a muscled thug exclaimed what sounded like ‘ _fucker_ ’ and stepped towards their direction. John quickly spared a glance towards the burly man and was relieved to see that his companion had a restraining hand wrapped around his arm.

 

“You might want to lower your voice a little if you at least don’t want to filter your words,” he chided mildly, like a mom would to a petulant child.

 

Without preamble, the man swiveled towards him and stared down with hard, scrutinizing eyes. They really were the color of silver with a hint of blue, John mused, undaunted by the sudden attention given to him.

 

“Why should I?”

 

“Because you’re obviously in the wrong side of your town and you are this close,” he motioned with his thumb and index finger, “to getting your ass handed over to you and I don’t want to engage in a brawl for some high handed stranger tonight.” John retorted, a hint of unsuppressed grin on his lips.

 

“Curious.” The man said in a clipped tone as he continuously stared at John. John held his breath. The man was very close to his face and was so unnervingly very still and composed. Tilting his head, the man smirked. “Switzerland will fall tonight. In fact, any other _Jaeger_ they’ll be sending against this _Kaiju_ would fail to win unless the send Fissure. It’s a fact, why should there be a need to tone down my words when my deductions are irrefutably right.”

 

John couldn’t afford himself to look at the screen. He didn’t want to risk breaking eye contact with the man; but he made some deductions of his own. From the dull sound of metals breaking and grating from the television and from the strong snarling growl given off by the Jaeger, and from the dismayed wails and utterances of the crowd, he could tell that Switzerland was falling indeed. Distantly, John knew that what he really, really ought to do would be to warn the man to close his mouth and carefully leave the establishment unless the man gratefully holding the huge brute back let go to lunge at him personally. What he did though, was to snort and raise a brow when the heart of the man’s comment sank in.

 

“Fissure? You mean Cobalt Fissure?” He huffed disbelievingly. His disapproval of the man’s _Jaeger_ of choice was apparent.

 

The man looked insulted. He scowled at John. “He’s the best.”

 

_Was this man preening?_

 

“No.” John disagreed, amused.

 

“He’s everyone’s favorite.”

 

“Not me.” John admitted.

 

The man narrowed his eyes further at John and pouted. He scrunched his nose and frowned. With a hard stare, he swept his silver eyes all over John’s form from head to toe, drinking in every minute detail. John felt subsequently naked. He licked his lips, suddenly feeling nervous from the attention. “Ah, yes, _soldier_.” The man drawled. “Tell me then, Lieutenant—no, _Captain_ ,” the man corrected when he caught on the tell tale signs from John’s face, “what’s your take on Cobalt Fissure?”

 

John opened his mouth then found that he couldn’t get the question out of his mouth, caught in surprise by the man’s deductions. Did this man know him? He had not told anyone in the settlement about his military history.  He swallowed and instead decided to answer the man’s question. “Cobalt Fissure’s pilots are smart—b”

 

“ _Pilot_ ,” the man corrected harshly, his voice rumbling silkily, “Fissure only has one pilot from the very start. _The only one in the world._ ”

 

“Really?” John exclaimed, genuinely flummoxed. “That’s amazing!”

 

The man looked taken aback but he swiftly schooled back his expression. He nodded at John to indicate that he continue with his answer.

 

John frowned. The man was the one who distracted him. But that Fissure has been being operated by a single pilot alone was unbelievable. He wondered why he’d never heard about it. He licked his lower lip and shook his head mildly to concentrate on his answer.

 

“So as I said, Cobalt Fissure has a smart pilot.” The man nodded carefully. “He evidently could predict what the _Kaiju_ ’s next set of attacks would be, what beastly part would receive more damage with what blow and whether to engage the battle in the sea or land. There certainly was more than one occasion where Fissure dragged the battle to a terrestrial surface for better leverage.” John took a breath. It was discomfiting that the man was continuously paying him that level of concentration but John found how he was enjoying sharing his opinion regarding the matter. People tended to brush him aside and ignore his comments when they realize that he was giving unfavorable comments regarding Cobalt Fissure. The man was right. Fissure was absolutely everyone’s favorite. He’s like an icon. “He’s also graceful, I’ll give you that. He’s very fluid. I sometimes forget that Fissure’s a machine.”

 

“ _But?_ ” The man prompted, his jaw was tightened and his lips were pursed into a straight line. His silver eyes were fixed on John’s blue ones. _When did he get so close?_

 

“But he’s reckless,” John breathed, glad to have let it out of his system. “He’s even more reckless in my eyes now that I know he’s got a single pilot. His evasive maneuvers are superb. It must be the result of his smartness since he looked as if he could predict the movements of _Kaijus_ but evasion would take more tax. It’s draining. It drags the battle long. Fissure clearly has no self defense. It’s as if the pilot abhors defensive maneuvers. Imagine if evasion fails and Fissure would have to take a hit. He wouldn’t know what to do with his arms.”

 

“It gets Fissure’s job done.”

 

“It will not be enough with smarter _Kaijus_ or with two _Kaijus_ joining the fray at the same time.”

 

“Defense,” the man sniffed, “defense is boring.”

 

“Not when you defend to attack it isn’t,” John grinned, feeling lightened by their conversation and almost smug. He never before had the chance to talk with anyone about the flaws of the most famous _Jaeger_ to grace the earth. More so, he usually didn’t get to finish a conversation about it. People tended to dismiss him.

 

“ ** _Oh_** ,” The man exclaimed comically and stilled emphatically. Then he looked down at John and flashed him a wolfish grin. The man really was beautiful. His face brightened when he smiled and his silver eyes looked a tad darker and more predatory when his lips bowed upwards. There was something disconcerting about this particular grin however and John only had his instinct to prepare him for what happened next.

 

The man stepped back from him, took a 360 degree turn and spread his arms with flourish as he looked up at the television. The screen was now depicting the _Kaiju_ ’s win against the _Jaeger_. Two of the Jaeger’s arms were destroyed. At the background, they could see a set of helicopters on the way to the field, bringing reinforcement: another _Jaeger_.

 

“And there she falls,” the man exclaimed dramatically, his voice unerringly loud and provocative. John’s gut twisted.  “Switzerland has fallen. I see they send France to be the _Kaiju_ ’s food next.”

 

John would’ve closed his eyes in exasperation at this point but the man who was previously restrained was now lunging with a feral growl towards the tall man. John intercepted the attacker. Recognizing John’s presence, the man pivoted on his heel, pulled back an arm and threw a punch towards John’s face. He may have grumbled an _‘out of the way, Doc’_ but John barely heard it.

 

John blocked the punch with his right upper forearm. It slowed the man’s momentum but before the enemy could recover, John promptly folded his left leg and hooked a heel at the back of the man’s right knee. The man lost his balance and stumbled forward and before he had the chance to fall face first on the ground, John launched a swift left hook under the man’s chin.

 

He did not break a sweat.

 

“I see what you mean.” The man said, remarkably delighted, his baritone voice assuming a high pitch. He was still sporting that safe wolfish grin and his eyes twinkled, the alabaster skin crinkling at the sides.

 

Defend to attack. John realized what the man has done of course.

 

“ _You git_.” He admonished, but he was already sporting the same smile himself. Chairs were falling around the pub, floorboards were screeching against rubber soles and people were all preparing for an organized assault. John tensed. He grabbed a handful of the man’s coat. The belstaff was genuine and the texture felt incredible on his hand. It could get irreparably damaged or crumpled by his hold but he reckoned he couldn’t have cared. The man, _this arrogant, brilliant and careless man_ , would not listen to reason after all. As the first attacker sprung to them, John bolted and promptly pulled at the man’s coat, “ _Move_ ,” he hissed.

 

He expected a resistance. The man was an idiot after all and it stood to reason that it may have not occurred to him to escape the place. John was confident with his own abilities and even when he’s not, he could survive a good beating, but he wasn’t stupid. There was no need to fight with a provoked, angry crowd when one could avoid it, especially when the said crowd was merely defending the _Jaeger_ and humanity’s honor.

 

Surprisingly, he met no resistance when he tugged at the man’s coat. John was exhilarated and relieved to find the man running along his side.


	3. Physical Compatibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> ‘But one punch was enough. One punch is all that it would take,’ Sherlock thought triumphantly.
> 
> .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> I am dreadfully sorry for the hiatus. I’d offer you my heart, soul and brain to do as you wish but BBC has already gotten hold of them. I suppose I could offer my future first born but I’m not too sure I’d be able to hold that side of the bargain. I was in all sorts of wrong—err.., still is, but now it’s just the Sherlockian sort of wrong remaining.
> 
> Pardon for my mistakes. This fic is still unbeta’d. You can all have my neck and I’m still going to be thankful for it.
> 
> .

 

~*~*~

 

Sherlock felt like a god. He was quite, irrefutably and viciously high. He couldn’t remember feeling particularly this _‘high’_ outside of Cobalt Fissure unless there was a dose of cocaine involved. He closed his eyes and savored the breath his heaving lungs desperately pulled back in. His muscles were trembling and his blood was singing. He could feel the rush of adrenaline coating the entire cells of his body. Even in the self imposed darkness, with his eyelids tightly shut, he could picture the other man, who was equally heaving just as desperately beside him as clearly as if he had his eyes open. His neurons were firing remarkably— _they always do_ —but this time felt as if they were being given an extra push. An extra violent push. He let out a throaty chuckle, forced by all the blood being pumped in all directions in a very abnormal manner, and he heard the other man laugh in response. He opened his eyes and glanced at the former soldier who was leaning back against the wall, his left shoulder against Sherlock’s. He had an expressive face, pleasant to look at, the tips of his ears were flushed and his bottom lips glistened from the habit of licking it when he was swallowed by strong emotions. Clearly, he was enjoying their little excursion.

 

“Sherlock Holmes,” he drawled without preamble.

 

The other man’s laughter stuttered then died down, his blue eyes slowly swiveling towards him to give him a curious look. Sherlock was dimly reminded how this man’s eyes were of the same color as Fissure’s blue coating. The ex-soldier tilted his head and looked at Sherlock contemplatively, a ghost of a smile still apparent on his supple lips.

 

“John Watson,” he offered.

 

“You’re currently unemployed.” Sherlock begun, “You work as a mercenary, accepting jobs that thread on dangerous grounds more often. You work as a physician on the sideline, catering for the population who couldn’t afford medical treatment but mostly you treat thugs, brutes and the homeless. You started feeling bored with your work since a week… no, a month ago and tonight would’ve been the last that Pub would’ve seen you. You decided to move overseas, risking the dangers of the sea after the latest _Kaiju_ attack settles.”

 

John looked at him with widened eyes and mouth agape. He recovered and shut his jaws tightly, cheeks coloring this time with irritation. He looked vaguely alarmed and Sherlock could see how his hands were fisted at his sides and how his shoulders shot up ramrod straight. The soldier was out and Sherlock was suddenly viewed as a possible threat. That simple reaction right there was yet tantamount to another torrent of details. _Predictable._ Sherlock smirked smugly at another realization. John apparently had some illegal dealing that could have quite involved the government and was on the lookout for his back. Sherlock could understand why he was viewed as someone suspicious at the moment.

 

“How did you…”

 

“ _Irrelevant_.” Sherlock cut off briskly.

 

“How did you know?” John asked again, forcefully, and Sherlock internally approved. He would go as far as admitting that he was particularly gleeful at the recent turnabout of the events.

 

“I didn’t know, _John_ ,” Sherlock explained slowly, rolling John’s name on his tongue leisurely, “I observed.”

 

“Mr. Holmes,” John Watson threatened, the syllables coated with the flashing read of a warning sign so thick that Sherlock imagined blood. Sherlock, in turn, was briefly intrigued at how the other man managed to deliver a threat using only his given name. John peeled his back off the wall and stepped in front of Sherlock, keeping guard, visibly reining his temper until he had decided on which action to execute. It was yet another trait that Sherlock approved of. This ex-soldier doctor didn’t seem rash in areas where it truly mattered; he wouldn’t have thrived and survived in the backwaters community of a City that suffered the aftermath of the _Kaiju_ phenomenon otherwise.

 

“ _Sherlock_ , _please_.” He smiled. It felt awkward on his lips but it was the one he carefully practiced when he deemed it necessary to bother with conventional when dealing with people outside the Shatterdome—and all the other people in general. Polite. He should be polite if he wanted to take this man home.

 

It seemed to irritate John Watson more. _Curious_.

 

Sherlock briefly thought that he ought to be the one more offended. Bloody John Watson didn’t even recognize his bloody name. He was the most popular _Jaeger_ pilot after all. The man had the gall to insult his fighting tactics but didn’t deign to know his identity, the man inside the wonder that is Cobalt Fissure.

 

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he started to fire off the obvious clues that led him to his deductions. “It wasn’t a great leap starting from the Pub. It wasn’t really a place frequented by the lay; in fact, it probably should already have a neon sign that says ‘ _dine and drink for your everyday thugs_ ’. You seemed particularly at ease where you sat. It wasn’t just the familiarity, it felt like home for you. You’re an adrenaline junkie; it calmed you when it became strongly apparent that a brawl was going to take place. It made sense that you’d take up being a mercenary these trying times. You were a soldier—that bit is obvious from your stance; you avoided having the whole of your back at the general population of the Pub, relaxed you may be but you were guarded. I deduced you were a doctor from your calluses. Obvious, really. I didn’t even break a sweat deducing them.”

 

Sherlock had said it all in one breath. He felt deserving to wear that self satisfied smile on his lips. John’s reactions to his cunning be damned. The blonde still looked murderously at him, jaws hardened they seemed like rocks under the moonlight.

 

“And the bit where I was bored?” John asked, his voice low, remarkably controlled.

 

Sherlock allowed a full, sharp and toothed smile to blossom at that. It was almost predatory, as if he’d succeeded in catching the prey with his net. “Easy _. You came to me_.”

 

John stilled and blinked at that, the expansion of his chest stilled. If John Watson could stop breathing at will, Sherlock thought he might kiss the man. Breathing was boring after all and the _Jaeger_ pilot had never mastered the arts of ‘not breathing’ at will. Yet John stood completely still and it was the sort of stillness that spread like shadows, the sort one doesn’t just learn because he wanted to. It brought with it the quiet that seemed to consume all the noise. But then the fleeting spell broke just as quickly with the miniscule twitch of the ex-army doctor’s face. Sherlock thought the man was going to snarl or lunge at him and was hugely surprised when John instead let out a chortle. The vibrations of his small laughter seemed to wash away the strain and the edge of his temper like a wet rag wiping off all bubbles on the surface.

 

 “That’s… was _amazing_. Kill me now, but that was bloody brilliant.”

 

Sherlock’s head swiveled fully to him, face now carefully guarded.

 

“It was?”

 

John looked at him with narrowed eyes but his lips were still curved in an amused smile. He looked dreadful and resigned and delighted and curious. How he managed that look Sherlock wasn’t really certain. It was quite possible John wasn’t half human. The other man shook his head with emphasis.

 

“You’re ridiculous.”

 

“And you’re still planning to leave this place.” Sherlock deduced from John. He wasn’t really happy about it. It was quite possible that Sherlock was feeling bitter. He doesn’t really take rejection very well and if he was here giving the time of his day to John Watson then it should be obvious what it was he was offering and demanding from this man.

 

With a crooked smile, John gave an easy shrug. “There’s already a ship set to sail once the newest _Kaiju_ threat’s been taken care of. It would be harder to find another opportunity what with the patterns of _Kaiju_ attacks changing and turning for the worse.”

 

“Ahh… that particular _Kaiju_ threat is most unfortunately still not taken care of.”

 

“It will be,” John said thoughtfully.

 

“No, it really won’t.”

 

It was John Watson’s turn to frown at him now. “Is this one of your deductions again or are you still obnoxiously cheering on Fissure? It’s been more than an hour. For all we know they might have already sent Fissure over the battlefield or some other _Jaegers_ might have already subdued the beast.”

 

Sherlock couldn’t help but snort. John Watson was being an idiot but in an adorable way. Sherlock was having far too much fun with this man. Odd that may be but it was refreshing.

 

“What?” John asked, puzzled over Sherlock’s expressions.

 

Sherlock decided that John was probably a stubborn man. He was practical where it mattered but he had already decided on a path to take which was to sail the _Kaiju_ infested waters and it wasn’t very likely that he would accept an invitation from a mad stranger. John seemed like a man of his words but Sherlock was fairly certain that he was more prompted and dazzled by actions.  Sherlock needed to show him.

 

Without giving the ex-army doctor any chance to gather himself, Sherlock abruptly rounded on him, his legs purposely taking long strides so that he was cornering the man, looming over his face. Sherlock could smell the other man’s breath. It smelled of beer and gin and of an interesting challenge. It smelled better than cocaine.

 

“I need you to punch me.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

_“Punch me now, John.”_

 

John just stared at him helplessly.

 

“Now!”

 

John looked affronted but held back, hands fisted at his sides stubbornly, and glared at Sherlock.

 

“Fine.” Then with one breath, Sherlock Holmes pulled back his arm and delivered a punch squarely on the blonde man’s jaw.

 

John stumbled but swiftly recovered to punch Sherlock Holmes back on the face in retaliation, just below a protruding cheek bone. The man was mad.

 

John’s punch hurt but it didn’t really hurt much. There was so much to deduce from that assault. It seemed that John was infuriated enough to want to reciprocate the punch but not enough so that he’d really want to off Sherlock. It could be reflex, but that was just Sherlock being oddly optimistic about it. The _Jaeger_ pilot did not feel any sort of malice from John at the very least.

 

 _‘But one punch was enough. One punch is all that it would take,’_ Sherlock thought triumphantly.

 

John Watson had no bloody clue that he wasn’t really getting into that boat. He wouldn’t be crossing the seas and start a new life. Every plan he has made up until this point was all thrown into the bin.

 

“The good thing, though,” Sherlock managed to wheezed in between breaths as he struggled for air while John’s forearm was tightly pressed against his throat, choking him, “is that you probably wouldn’t be bored anymore _.”_

John answered with a rough gruff.

_‘Breathing is boring_ ,’ Sherlock reminded himself while the ex-army doctor babbled adorable threats and continued to squeeze the air out of his lungs to deliver his message not to mess with an ex-army-doctor-mercenary-or something. Sherlock probably should be concerned that John was being overly enthusiastic (over enthusiasm could crash tracheas after all) but all his brain seemed to bother with was the glorious warmth on his back as the other man’s chest pressed on it and that any moments now…

 

As if on cue, bright lights swallowed the darkness and both of them found themselves blinded by the glare. The lights almost chased the night away. The air was rippling in the way it does when there are helicopters hovering nearby. Sherlock gave himself another mental pat on his back for having distracted John Watson so well from the noise of their pursuit. Above the deafening noise of the helicopters’ blades’ though, came the authoritative voice behind a megaphone.

 

“Hold your arms in the air.  I repeat, hold your hands in the air. You are under arrest for assaulting a Jaeger Pilot.”

 

Sherlock felt John’s grip on him ease until finally the other man completely released him and took some steps back. Sherlock didn’t bother to turn around to face the man.

 

He took a desperate guzzle of air.

 

He could practically taste it, the forbidden fruit he never truly believed existed. He could practically feel its imaginary juice drip down the side of his chin and his tongue hurt to follow the imaginary trail.

 

Checkmate.

 

Who would have thought?

 

He finally found Cobalt Fissure’s Second Pilot.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> .
> 
> Sorry for the mistakes. This is unbeta'd. Took a long rest from writing because of some worldly concerns but I'm back. Even with the errors, I promise to still persevere and endeavor to do better ^^. Had to write this short fic--Pacific Rim AU--to pay tribute to the said movie. I totally loved it. Del Torro is one hell of a sunuvabitch!!!!! What a genius!!!!!!
> 
> .
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks to Nofavrell for giving Sherlock's Jaeger's name!!! :D
> 
> .


End file.
